Contact
by purple devil 87
Summary: When Jonathan finally gives Sock much needed contact he's left more vulnerable than ever


Jonathan was never one for making out. He just didn't really care for it, honestly, it was alright he supposed, just not his favorite. Oh no his favorites were _little _kisses. Little kisses all over your face. Little kisses on your shoulders, arms, back, just _little kisses. _And dammit Sock had a kissable face. Sock had cute chipmunk cheeks and a button nose, totally kissable. His bony shoulders? Kissable. His soft fluffy hair? Kissable. Just one problem, Sock wasn't exactly solid. Which frankly pissed Jonathan off. How dare Sock have such a kissable, and yet _unkissable, _face. Unless… he had done it once before making the slightest contact. He just wasn't sure how it had happened.

When Sock was alive he loved touching people. Hugs, cuddling, snuggling, hand holding, bumping shoulders, brushing knees, forehead touching, cheek kisses, _making out, _he loved it all. Sock just really loved being close to people. Touching was the absolute best thing. He liked feeling wanted and loved. Physical touch was a reassurance to him, when they violent intrusive thoughts and homicidal urges got to be too much. There was no better feeling than the warmth of another person pressed against you.

The only thing that could top that was the warmth of another person's blood seeping out of them. Jonathans blood. His mind went reeling like a slot machine. Yes. It was an answer his mind settled on. Yes he wanted to see Jonathan take his last breath and bleed his life away. He wanted to hold Jonathan's bleeding corpse no matter what it took. But...once he was dead. He was dead. The dead part gave Sock a feeling of indecision. The desire faded moving to the background.

In the meanwhile Sock would stick with being the nuisance that he was. Meaning that mornings for Jonathan would stay rough. Waking up to bright, crazy smiles, fluffy hair, and Sock blaring his rendition of the most annoying pop songs. Then it was either a colder than the Arctic or hotter than hell shower (though Sock said Hell wasn't even that hot). Before Sock, breakfast was a lonely affair, now it was an annoying one.

"You should put ketchup on your toast, wait no soy sauce!"

"Jon, Jon, stick your hand in the toaster. Wait no! _Lick _the toaster! Joooooon."

And after battling Sock throughout breakfast he would have to find his backpack and run to the bus stop.

Mornings are hard. Living with a demon though...it's harder.

It's not like Sock was plainly visible to everyone. So more often than not people would blow Jonathan off as the crazy kid. How else do you exactly explain talking to an invisible skirt wearing demon? Well you don't. The thing was even if Sock was annoying Jonathan did like him. So it wasn't surprising Sock did eventually get to him.

Jonathan was tired, and pulling an all nighter didn't seem to help. The bed shifted next to him. Sock. He plopped down, scooting close. His studying would have to be done and this moment was good enough to end it.

"Sock. Really?" He' been combating Socks desire to sleep next to him (Wait did demons even sleep? ...Ehh. That wasn't important.) , but how much longer could he hide his crush. He had been warming up and he tried his best not to like the warming up.

He got up placing his textbook on the desk then sat back down sighing and placed a begrudging arm around Sock. It for a moment phazed through then suddenly Sock became solid under his touch. It surprised him for a bit before he settled. This at least was better than his nagging, but right now he didn't have to worry as Sock had stopped nagging for the while. It was a nine to five job after all. Sock smiled as Jonathan gave in, curling against him. He sighed feeling tired as his grudge lifted. So, so tired. He yawned. His eyes began to droop. Then...they closed.

Jonathan was the compliant type. So if cuddling Sock eased his annoyance he'd do it. And he did, letting it become routine.

Jonathan liked asking questions. Despite his disillusionment, he still was curious about certain things humanity threw in his way. Sock for one.

He felt restless. Was this what Sock experienced? He didn't know. "Ugh. I can't sleep again." "Well I don't have to worry about that anymore. Sleep is one thing I don't miss from being human." Rarely did Sock address he ever was once human, but it always provoked a one sided twenty one questions of sorts from Jonathan. It was just what he needed right now. Oh well. Sleep be damned! His curiosity was rising.

"What _do _you miss about being human?" Sock paused thinking a minute. "Food...and human contact…Oh! and the ability to easily grip things. Sucks having my hand slip through the bed at times." There was a pause. A choice word struck Jonathan. "Contact?" The word came out forced and pitchy, posing itself in a questioning manner. Sock squirmed, seeming uncomfortable. Maybe he should have just glossed over it. Sock took a deep breath in "Y-yeah…it was nice. It made me feel normal for a moment...like maybe I wasn't the homicidal maniac who ended up killing himself. Wait shit I-" Sock sighed. He'd gone too far.

It took Jonathan a moment to take it all in. It was shocking to say the least, but what could be done? Sock was dead now. In the quiet of his room he could hear him sniffle. Nervously he put an arm around Sock. He felt his tufts of untameable hair tickle his arm. It was soft, in...a frizzy way. He also felt Socks snotty tears. They wet his pajama shirt, drying instantly like they never had been there before wetting it once more. Sock looked up, teary eyed. It was that pitiful look. One that struck Jonathan inside.

His eyes widened then squinted as he reached to carefully wipe away Socks tears with a thumb. A wobbly, saddened smile placed itself on Socks lips. "What can you do? Your dead Sock. You might as well not worry." A desperate pull to ease Socks discomfort welled within Jonathans gut. He brushed away floppy bangs pressing his lips against Socks cool forehead. He kissed him. Sock looked up at him, his eyes wide, and hugged him back, reciprocating his love. Between them both was a bond. Something they'd never get back. Jonathan yawned. Tired as he was his eyes began to droop. Finally his body began to rest. He didn't notice Sock phase through him. He was already asleep.

Sock tried his best. Taunting Jonathan daily. Constantly reminding him of the inevitable end. Reminding him of his death sentence. "Don't become attached." Mephestophelese reminded. Was he that obvious? He knew he was failing at his job. It was Jonathan's constant retortive reminders that where his proof of failure. "Why dont you kill yourself?" "You suck at your job Sock." He'd respond. But a last resort stood, and failure became a blanket for his idea to hide under. That night Jonathan kissed him...he faded away. Phazing through Jonathans flesh and bone. Sock had him where he wanted. Had him vulnerable.

Opening his eyes he looked about. It was his alarm blaring in his face for once and not Sock with his antics. Suddenly he noticed the dent in his pillow where Sock had once been, illuminated by the soft sunlight streaming from his window. Worried, he tried not to dwell on it. Maybe Sock popped down to hell. He did that every so often. Also, why was he so cold? Cold. The word sent flashbacks of Socks cool phantom skin under his lips from last night. The memory sent a pang of guilt through him. He had gotten so close, but now...Sock was gone.

Breakfast was a lonely affair again. Without Sock pestering him to lick the toaster or try some other shenanigans worthy of his demise the room seemed quiet and empty. He resorted to playing some music with his headphones on as he ate. It took off the edge of the quietness. His shower was still an uncontrollable extreme of temperature. At least something was familiar. After dressing he raced out to the bus lacking Sock as per usual, prattling his ear off. The only good part was that his classes where easier. Imagine trying to read a book in english while a demon is pestering you to die, or completing a math test as a demon phazes through your desk. That night Sock didn't plop down on the bed and try to cuddle up to him. Jonathan didn't want to admit, but it hurt without Sock.

The next day was the same. And the next one. And the next one. He became good at just going through the motions of carrying on without Sock. A lethargy of sorts crept into his life along with the ease of continuing on. part of Jonathan missed Socks presence. He tried to tamp that part down. Maybe he was just as crazy as his peers thought. Maybe Sock was only a concoction of his imagination. He had to be didn't he. How could he let himself become so attached to something so fake. How could he love a mirage.

A day came when the lethargy hit a max. He laid there. Why get up? Every day was the same. A constant in and out without change. When Sock was around he was annoying, but without him he was lonely. Even if the taste of friendship and comfort he'd had with Sock was a figment of his imagination he missed it.

His parents worried. What was up? His dad snapped. "What's up with you?! You don't go anywhere! You don't eat much! You barely care about others! Your mother and I are worried sick!" That did nothing to help. At times all Jonathan wanted was to leave behind the pressing weight and sameness of his drab life. Sometimes he thought back to Sock. It was amazing how dark of a character he could dream up. Sometimes he thought back to Socks taunts about stabbing himself. At times the thought was pleasing.

That morning when he woke up. He headed into the kitchen as he usually would on a normal school day. Instead of grabbing breakfast he headed over to the knife drawer. Tentatively he reached for the handle weighing his options. Not giving himself much time to think he pulled it open quickly. It was one smooth movement, picking up the knife, shutting the drawer, and racing back to his room. Socks taunts echoed in his mind. His last glimpses of life where a blur. A metallic coldness plunged into his gut. Red stained the room. Stained the carpet. Stained his memory. He was gone.

Sock appeared, it was comforting to see someone he knew. "Jeez you really did yourself in. Need a hand up?" tentatively Jonathan reached up and took hold of Socks hand hoisting himself up. Sock wasn't a figment of his imagination! He knew it! He- Sock faded away. Wh-what? No! He needed Sock! What would he do without him?!

He'd file things without Sock. Microphobia, fear of small things. The file hit the ground with a warbly plop. Blank eyes scanned the list, missophobia, fear of being contaminated with dirt or germs. Germaphobes. Boring, dull, and stupid. It must be awful for them.

Mnemophobia, fear of memories. Pause! A billion thoughts went rushing. Snippets of memories. Smiles, reddish brown hair, dorky sweater vests, red scarves. "Stop it! Get a grip!" He muttered. Bright grins, soft hair, purple skirts, red rivers. Teeth where grit and held firm. It helped hold it back. Usually.

Monophobia, fear of solitude or being alone. There's a pause. Slowly the box is set down. The all too familiar hollow ache of the moments had and could have been had arose in Jonathan's gut. If Sock where there going on would be possible, but now existing alone hurt. His teeth were released as the feeling sunk in.


End file.
